Chatting with Jakarta taxi drivers
By Edmund Thompson
JAKARTA — "This traffic jam is caused by the stupidity and corruption of the government! They can't even do simple things like fix up the traffic, let alone respond to the people's desires for greater democracy and equal distribution of wealth."
I was sitting in a taxi on one of Jakarta's main thoroughfares, on the second day of a trip to Indonesia in December.
Exhausted by the heat of the morning, I had been dreading the hour or so it would take to travel by steamy, overcrowded public bus the four kilometres back to where I was staying. So I opted to lash out a couple of dollars on a taxi.
As the traffic ground to a halt, the driver had also clearly had enough. "Tell the people in your country that the Indonesian people aren't stupid. Don't believe the Indonesian government when they say they are developing the country and solving the problem of poverty. Just go to Jatinegara [a poor area in east Jakarta] and you'll see how the people really live.
"One time soon, there will be an explosion here. It's like the Philippines in the time of Marcos. I hope Suharto has a long life, so that he'll be exposed before the world and so that the people here will rise up and rebel."
I've been visiting Indonesia regularly for the past five years, and rarely had I encountered anyone (who was not a member of a pro-democracy group) who was prepared to attack the government so openly. In the past, if I met people casually, they were often guarded in their criticisms or required a lot of prompting to overcome their well-founded nervousness about speaking out.
During my six-week visit at the end of 1996, I was curious to see whether the popular mood had been affected by the events of the previous six months. Since early June, the government had removed the immensely popular Megawati Sukarnoputri from her position as leader of the Indonesian Democratic Party (PDI), orchestrated an attack on her party headquarters in July (in which an unknown number, possibly more than 40, were killed) and overseen a crackdown on the whole pro-democracy movement.
I was amazed by what I encountered. In visits to Jakarta, Bandung, Surabaya and Denpasar, I spoke to bus drivers, hotel clerks, food stall vendors, youths hanging out on the streets, teachers and other people I met casually. Whenever the topic turned to politics — and this was common — there was almost universal hostility to the government.
There was particular unanimity on the events of 1996: nobody believed the government's line. Everybody knew that Megawati was the victim of a crude and brutal, government-orchestrated, ouster.
Everybody knew it was the military which attacked the PDI office, and people were curious to know how the events had been reported in the outside world, and in particular, what the foreign press said was the real number killed.
Similarly, nobody I met believed that activists from the People's Democratic Party (PRD) were behind the July riots. On the PRD, typical comments included: "They're good kids, they just want democracy and more justice for the people", "They were just supporters of Megawati, made into scapegoats by the government".
Conversations generally headed in a similar direction when they turned to more general matters. Disgust at corruption was common: "Corruption is out of control" and "The children of officials can get whatever they want" were standard comments.
Similarly, people I met were far more willing to criticise the military than in the past: "The army aren't the defenders of the people, just the defenders of Suharto and the government". "This is a military state, not a democratic state."
In particular, there was widespread revulsion at the depredations of the Suharto family, which now have a definite late Roman Empire flavour.
Almost everybody had a favourite story about "the kids", and seemingly incredible tales are the stuff of everyday gossip — that one of Suharto's grandsons is the big boss behind the country's ecstasy trade and is regularly seen off his face dancing on the tabletops of Jakarta's most expensive discos, or that one son (Tommy) tried to shoot another (Bambang) during a squabble about who would get Indonesia's lucrative national car project.
In one version of the latter story, Bambang's bodyguard took the bullet, and it was this incident which caused Tien, the boy's mother, to have her fatal heart attack. One taxi driver I met became so choked up when trying to express the disgust he felt for the first family that he was unable to continue the conversation for some time.
Indeed, of all those I met (excluding members of pro-democracy organisations) taxi drivers, especially in Jakarta, were the most outspoken. They witness the extremes of wealth and poverty every day, and each day must hand over the bulk of their takings to their employers, keeping only a pittance for themselves. At the same time, they're often given humiliating treatment by the members of the Jakarta elite whom they ferry around the city.
Most are supporters of Megawati, and many friends told me that during the pro-democracy protests of June and July, taxi drivers had often stopped to give small donations or otherwise show their support.
When I chatted to Jakarta taxi drivers, one strikingly common theme I heard — as well as the usual complaints about poverty, corruption, inequality and human rights abuses — was predictions of coming upheaval. In the words of a driver from the prestigious Bluebird fleet:
"One time soon, it could be in five or 10 years, there will be a civil war here. Don't think that just because the people don't have weapons they're not brave enough to face death."
Comparisons between the fall of Marcos and what is hoped for Suharto are commonplace. Another driver, this time from the more disreputable President taxis, told me: "If you could buy pistols here freely like you can overseas, a lot of senior officials would be dead by now. I would have shot some myself!"
The regime often claims (and it is echoed by its foreign supporters, including the Australian government) that even if its methods are a little rough, it enjoys widespread support for its pursuit of economic development. This lie is becoming more and more difficult to sustain.
There has always been an undercurrent of opposition to the regime, and for the last few years the pro-democracy movement has been growing. What is now clear is that the legitimacy of the regime is crumbling at a far more rapid rate than ever before.
The chances are that — after the taxi drivers of Jakarta get their wish and are able to look back at the end of the Suharto regime — 1996 will stand out as the year in which the decisive shift in the popular mood took place.